Silence
by Embolalia
Summary: She told him once she was a screamer, and he learned it for himself one night long ago. But that was before everything changed. Tony and Ziva resolve the tension between them since her return. Spoilers Season 7.
1. Chapter 1

**Silence**

This refers to a chapter of my series _Conversations _in which Tony and Ziva having sex the night before being sent away after Judgment Day II. You don't need to have read that to make sense of this, though.

I feel like I've written a lot of Ziva-trauma stories lately, but I blame that mostly on the show—believe me, it's not my favorite subject matter. It needs resolution, though, and somehow I don't think they're going to show that in prime time.

Warning: **There are references in this story to both consensual sex and rape. **I'm not sure it really warrants an M rating, but I thought it might so it has one.

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Tony stands still beneath the stream of water, head bent, his breath coming in panting sobs though tears have not yet joined the water pouring down his face. He presses a hand over his eyes, fighting the nausea the past hour has left in him.

***

Four months Ziva had been back, four months of her slowly recovering and their banter slowly returning. It had returned with something new. Every so often Tony would catch her eye, and there would be such deep emotion between them that they'd be caught, a current of acknowledgment and assurance connecting them--and the promise that something was waiting to happen.

They'd been in the restaurant downstairs trying to get a glimpse of a serial killer who was going after couples at this particular establishment. When they'd finished eating and paid but still hadn't seen him, Ziva had led Tony to the dance floor, stalling for more time to catch sight of the suspect.

She'd glanced up at him while dancing and the current was there, augmented by the heat of their bodies pressed close together. In an instant, Ziva's eyelids had drooped, her pupils dilating, her mouth softening, and Tony's lips were on hers before either could say a word. The sensation of her fingernails on the back of his neck brought back instantly a thousand memories of the night, nearly a year and a half ago, when they'd finally given in. They were both losing each other, they both cared for each other—there seemed no logic strong enough to keep them apart that night. In the darkness before morning Ziva had whispered to him something Gibbs had told her about Jenny, about how warriors like her, like him, defended from everyone, could only ever be truly vulnerable, truly abandoned to passion, with their partners.

After the boat, after Israel, they were not the same. She'd had someone even if she kept it a secret; he'd had enough time to think to get terrified again. They had never spoken of that night.

Except that kissing her, feeling her tongue pressing into his mouth, his hand tightening on the silky fabric at the small of her back, Tony knew exactly what he wanted.

A buzzing in his ear reminded Tony what his job was, and he pulled back as he listened to Gibbs' directions to get a room and continue the charade; the dining room appeared to be central to the killer, so they should stick around until breakfast. And make it believable.

Tony softly relayed the message to Ziva, then they left to make the arrangements. She pressed against him in line and in the crowded elevator, and Tony's senses were going wild.

As they stepped into the room, Tony hesitated, but then went in for a kiss. She was his wife, after all, they had to play the scene out. And her lips were incredibly soft. Slipping a hand behind her head, Tony kissed her deeper. And then he heard her whimper. Softly, involuntarily. A noise he'd never heard from her last time they were undercover, a noise that told him that she, Ziva, was the one kissing him back.

Nothing had ever turned him on more in his life. Desperate for her, Tony took two quick steps forward until Ziva's back met the door and his hips sank against hers, flooding him with sensation.

Just as quickly he was thrust backward, Ziva's hands shoving at his shoulders.

Trying not to break character but shocked with rejection, Tony slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her head.

"I thought you were enjoying yourself," he hissed as quietly as he could, his tone petulant and angry.

Ziva didn't answer, but her jaw trembled. Her eyes meeting Tony's were wide with fear; she pressed backward into the door, away from him.

As soon as Tony registered her anxiety, he dropped his hands, then rested them lightly on her shoulders in case there was any kind of surveillance.

"I'm sorry," he offered softly.

She nodded, but didn't answer.

He waited.

Finally she spoke. "I have not been with anyone since Somalia," Ziva said nervously. "I did not mean to hurt you, you startled me when you pinned me--"

Tony shook his head, cutting her off. "Why didn't you stop me sooner?" he whispered, agonized that he'd scared her. "We could have refused to stay over night."

She averted her eyes, her cheeks flushing. Ziva forced the words out. "I _was_ enjoying it." She looked back up at him, watching the wheels turning in his mind.

Tony straightened but didn't back away from her.

Ziva reached up and laid a hand along his jaw. Slowly she pressed up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his again.

His nostrils flared in awareness of her; he tried to fight his body's reaction.

"Come here." Tony took her hand and pulled her toward the bed.

"Let me--" Ziva reached toward the light switch and paused, glancing back uncertainly.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

She pursed her lips.

Tony leaned in to kiss her neck, giving her a chance to murmur in his ear.

Ziva was relieved she didn't have to look him in the eyes. "I'm not sure if it's better to have the lights on so I don't forget it's you or if I'd rather you not see my body."

He pulled back and kissed her forehead. "I opt for you seeing me and me staying alive," he whispered into her widow's peak. He was rewarded with a chuckle against his throat. Tony led her toward the bed.

"Sit down," she said softly when they reached it. "I'll do this." She gave him a sultry glance, but Tony worried she wasn't ready to be touched yet. He sat and waited.

Ziva turned, glancing at him over her shoulder. God, if circumstances were different he'd have thrown her down on the bed and taken her by now—Tony stopped the thought. Circumstances were what they were. He would do whatever she needed.

And then she slid her dress around her ankles and stepped out of it and his desire died. Nothing had ever made him less excited than the sight of the ruin that had been wrought upon Ziva's body. Lines, burns, twisted scar tissue marred Ziva's back. And he could tell from the tension in her shoulders and neck that she knew he was looking, that this sight might be the most intimate thing she allowed him all night.

Tony leaned forward and slipped his hands around her waist, pulled her toward him. "Does it still hurt?" he asked softly against her skin.

"No," she whispered.

Without further question, he laid his lips in the small of her back. She gasped, and he wasn't sure why, but Tony didn't stop. He traced the scars with his lips and fingers, kissing it better the way his mother did in his faintest memories. As he reached her shoulder blade, Ziva began to tremble, and after a second Tony realized she was crying.

Standing, he turned her to face him, then sat and pulled her down onto his lap, cradling her.

"What is it?" he asked, then wanted to kick himself for saying it out loud.

She shook her head. "I can't explain it," she whimpered. Ziva buried her face in his collar and Tony felt like he might blow apart as he held her, rocking her gently. He'd thought he'd seen her broken, but he didn't know what this meant. He let her cling to him; it was the only thing he knew he could offer.

"I'm sorry," Ziva said as her breathing steadied.

Tony pressed his lips to her temple. "Don't be."

She pulled back to see him. "You know when your leg falls asleep and it's all pens and needles?"

"Pins," he couldn't help correcting gently.

"Yes," she said. "It hurts when your leg wakes back up."

Tony nodded, understanding her metaphor, and leaned in slowly to kiss her, giving Ziva time to pull away. She didn't. As they kissed, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt, pushing the sleeves off of him.

When she finished, Ziva pulled back for a breath. "Perhaps we should continue this under the covers?" she suggested breathlessly.

Tony grinned. "Why not?" He shucked his clothes quickly and followed her between the satin sheets. Once there he grew more serious, wondering what other damage her attackers might have left.

Ziva looked into his eyes. "Don't worry," she whispered. "Kiss me."

He grabbed her chin in his thumb and forefinger. "Promise me you'll stop me if it's too much," he said firmly.

She nodded.

"Promise," Tony insisted.

"I promise," Ziva said gently. She leaned forward, kissing him hard, biting his lip.

Her inhibitions seemed to have vanished and Tony let Ziva set the pace but had no complaints. She welcomed his touch and she was as soft and responsive as he'd remembered, as he'd dreamed about a thousand times since he touched her last. But just as he slid his hands up her thighs, aligning their bodies, Ziva rested a hand against his chest.

"Tony," she whispered.

"Yeah?" He leaned forward to kiss her but stopped at the look on her face.

Ziva licked her lips nervously. "Slowly at first, alright?"

Tony had to fight to stay aroused as he processed her meaning.

"Hey!" she slapped his face lightly with her hand.

Tony met her eyes grimly.

She pulled his head down for a kiss. "I didn't mean stop." She wrapped her legs around him and Tony responded with only slightly lessened hunger, taking her slowly at first and then with rising passion.

Ziva kissed him over and over, and it wasn't until he finally dropped his mouth to her throat, nipping at her pale skin, that Tony realized what was missing. He glanced up at her face, saw her jaw tightly locked as she kept herself from crying out.

"Ziva," he whispered, and she opened eyes clouded with what was clearly pleasure. He drove inside her again, watching her face contort as she came, then lost himself in turn.

***

Standing in the shower now while she sleeps, Tony realizes he is crying as he remembers Ziva the way she was that first night more than a year ago, the mewls and moans and screams of pleasure that told him how she was feeling. He can hardly imagine how many times she forced herself to lay silent, not to give her captors any satisfaction by crying out in pain. He doesn't want to imagine, but it's stuck in his head now, and he's filled with rage for what has been taken from her, and from him, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Noise**

This picks up from the last moment in Silence: Tony in the shower, Ziva sleeping. We've switched to Ziva's point of view.

I think this is the end of this piece. I'm not trying to resolve too much too quickly, but it feels complete to me the way I've left it. I hope you like it!

Warning: **There are references in this story to both consensual sex and rape. **Less graphic ones, though.

* * *

Sometimes she knows that she's dreaming, but right now she's in a dream of a dream. She wakes with her head pounding. Her fingers search out the knot and find it. The size of a golf ball, Tony would say. She looks around for him and finds herself in a dirty cell. The concussion is not her only injury, and Ziva tenses as she wonders how much memory she's lost and how she got here. Were the others taken too? When will they come for her? The weakness in her body frightens her more badly than she's been in a long time and she slowly sits, noting the fading bruises that mar her skin.

Where are they? She can't help wondering. Closing her eyes, she tries to calm down and remember, lets her mind linger in the memories that come easily: Abby furious over a cupcake, McGee with his hands stuck to his keyboard, Tony...Tony. She can't help that the image that flits to mind is of that night last year, his arms holding her intimately against his body. Ziva shakes her head, clearing the image away, and then cringes at the pain.

As it fades, she remembers the rest, all in a rush, and wishes her amnesia weren't so temporary. With a gasp she sees him pinned beneath her, his arm in a sling. Sees Michael's corpse. The disappointment in Gibbs' eyes. And two months of horror.

Somewhere beyond the door, she hears the stamp of boots and Ziva finds herself trembling. For the thousandth time she wonders why she hasn't found a way to kill herself yet. And then his face fills the bars on the window and she stills herself. Never show fear.

But when he kicks her backward and her head strikes the wall, she can't help crying out.

***

Her eyes snap open and she's still not in her room. Ziva shrinks back into the bed, looking fearfully around. It's like falling out of one rabbit hole and into another. She is naked and not sure why.

Light spills from an open door as a figure runs toward the bed and she strikes out without thought, averting her hand just in time as he gasps her name. She can't avoid grazing his cheek with a smack.

"Ziva," he gasps, kneeling beside her on the bed.

She is still trembling.

Tony reaches out hesitantly to touch her face. His fingers are wet. He tilts her face up, and turns just enough that she can see him, too.

Joy bubbles up before she can stop it. "You came!" she whispers in awe.

Pain fills his eyes and he pulls away, sitting back on his heels, still naked and damp.

"What?" she is confused by his reaction.

He reaches to the end of the bed and wraps the cotton blanket draped there around himself. He doesn't speak.

Ziva reaches for the lamp and turns it on, then looks back to find Tony's eyes locked on her bare breasts. She rolls her eyes, smirking. "Tony," she says, her voice sultry.

Tony's eyes meet hers, but not with passion. "You screamed," he says. "Like...like something awful was happening to you." He is practically shaking himself.

Ziva flinches, looking down, twisting her hands in the sheet. "I was dreaming. A nighthorse." She peeks at him, waiting for him to correct her. When he doesn't, she knows something is really wrong.

"About what?" he asks. His nostrils flare and she can tell he doesn't really want to know.

Ziva shakes her head. "It will cause us both more pain than good to relive it," she says softly.

"You' re reliving it anyway."

She can't stand the amount of grief in his eyes. It doesn't seem right. "We are both alive," she says fervently. "We are here, together. What good can possibly come from dwelling on the nightmares of the past?"

A flicker of a smile tells her he caught her slip, knows she was pretending before. His brow furrows again almost at once. "You said you were ready to die," Tony whispers.

Ziva nods once. "I was." She watches as his face falls. She aches to reach out and put her arms around him, but she knows him and she knows he feels guilty, and she knows about guilt. She knows you have to get yourself out of it. The only thing she can offer is truth. She speaks softly. "Tony, how many cases did you work while I was gone? The team, I mean."

He shrugs. "I don't know. Dozens."

She looks into his eyes, pitying him for what he's about to know. "The whole time you were doing that, every minute, I was in that room where you found me or one like it. In some kind of pain, some kind of hell, knowing that there would come a time when I would betray you just for a chance at death."

His fingers snake across the comforter to grasp hers, and she holds them even when it hurts. She speaks slowly, looking straight into him. "The details do not matter, they are over. They hurt me in all the ways you can think of and more, and in between they left me alone to torture myself with the knowledge of what I had done and who I had become." It takes effort not to look away with the last admission, but she makes it. "At some point, after months of guilt and regret, I found my way through it. I remembered loving you, all of you. And there was peace in knowing I was protecting you." She strokes the back of his hand with her thumb. "I was raised to know that my death should have meaning. Perhaps I was out of my mind, but that was the meaning I chose."

Something in his face relaxes and Ziva tugs at Tony's hand. He moves willingly to sit beside her, leaning against the headboard. She strokes his cheek with her free hand. "I'm sorry I slapped you," she says nervously, waiting for him to comment on what she's said.

His eyes trace the scar that runs from her collarbone to just above her left breast. Tony shakes his head. "I can't stand that we didn't save you in time," he says softly.

Ziva grips his face between her hands, demanding his attention. "You did, Tony," she says firmly. "Did you not hear me? I am here. Have you not seen action movies? The hero is not the hero if he rescues the pretty girl before anything bad happens."

He smiles reflexively. "Calling yourself a princess?"

She grins with relief at the hint of banter. "You were my hero, Tony," she says, just a touch of irony in her voice.

Tony laughs, hugging her against him, burying his face in her throat.

"And McGee, of course. And Gibbs."

His chuckle vibrates through her. But when he pulls away she realizes it was a sob. "Ziva," he says huskily. His eyes study her face in the dim light. "I mourned for you." he whispered. "I went there to make my death worth something, too. Being here without you, that was my hell." There are tears in his eyes; he looks more vulnerable than she has ever seen him before.

She hasn't forgotten what he said that day, but she put it away with the rest of her memories of Africa. Hearing it again, in essence, sets her mind reeling. But it is too overwhelming to go there, not yet, not when they still need to heal so much.

"Tony, we are here, together," Ziva says again. "I had a bad dream, but isn't that all that matters? We got our lives back." She smiles, tries to make him understand her happiness. She is happy, she thinks. She never dared hope for a night like this.

He takes her chin between his fingers, resting his thumb against her lip.

Ziva waits for him to kiss her but he doesn't.

"You used to scream during sex, not at your dreams," he says softly.

Her face falls open in pain.

He panics at her expression. "I didn't mean--"

Ziva nods, looks away. She closes her eyes, pulls away from his hand. "I am sorry, Tony," she murmurs, swallowing hard. "I am here, but the scars do not go away. We cannot go back."

His hands settle lightly on her shoulders, and she can feel his tension as Tony keeps himself from grabbing her. She opens her eyes in gratitude.

"It's not that you've changed," he says earnestly. "I just need to know it's not still so bad you want to die. I can't lose you."

She smiles warmly, peacefully. She knows him well. She knows that for once he is being completely honest, and she is filled with joy because for once she can give him exactly what he needs. "I am here," Ziva says firmly. "And you won't."

He smiles back, brilliantly, and then his lips are on hers. She is briefly surprised that after being through so much she is comfortable with a man again this quickly, but this is Tony. He pulls her down to the bed with him and she gasps as his hands sliding across her skin flood her with arousal.

Ziva lets him take the lead, giving him what he needs to know that she is alive and beside him. They are both less afraid of her being hurt this time, and their pleasure is the sweeter for it.

At last they are sated, the light switched off.

"Do you want your space?" Tony ask quietly in the dark as he spoons behind her.

Ziva hesitates, then shakes her head. "I'll do my best not to kill you."

She can sense him smiling.

"Good night," Tony says.

"Good night," she answers.

As she drifts off to sleep, Ziva is awoken by Tony's laughter muffled in her hair.

"What?" Ziva mutters.

"You still snore."

She pokes his hip gently, murmurs. "Shhh."

He strokes her waist. As her mind wanders down its dark roads toward sleep, Ziva can feel the memories lurking around a bend, just like every night. But she snuggles back against Tony. Tonight she is not afraid.


End file.
